Twenty-Four’s

Returning to our camp in the McDowell Mtn regional park late last Wednesday afternoon, after a trip to town to get provisions, we found that we had new neighbors. There were ten of them and It took Wyatt less than a minute to get everyone’s name, where they were from, and if they wanted to come over for dinner…pretty much business as usual.

It turns out they were all originally from Alaska. The majority had within the last two to three years relocated to the Tucson area, a couple still lived in Alaska and were just visiting for a few days. It was a really great group of people. Their opening age was about 55, they were vigorous outdoors people, all had played college sports at a high level and were still very fit, and they were fun…really fun, genuine people.

McDowell Mountain is all about mountain biking and these guys were making the most out of it by riding at least twice daily. I commented to Malia that with all the bike gear, and wrenches, and spare tubes, and tires laying around it reminded me of a surf camp…only for mountain bikers.

We were also riding a lot and I could see Wyatt and Carson were angling to join our neighbors on a ride, but I could also see that our neighbors were a little reluctant to let us join, probably worrying that the boys wouldn’t be able to keep up…or maybe it was me. On the last day they relented. I assured Wally, who has some fun stories that you can read here, not to worry, the worst case…us Foley’s would stick together if we couldn’t hang, and they could forge on ahead.

As we prepared for the ride, checking tire pressure, and cleaning our chains, we were discussing the advantages and disadvantages of twenty-nine inch wheels. The day before Wendy, Wally’s wife, had gone into town and purchased a sweet new Specialized with twenty-nine inch wheels and she was a definite convert. The rest of us were all riding twenty-six inch wheels except for Wyatt and Carson who were on twenty-four’s.

It was a beautiful ride winding through desert valleys and washes, it took us up and over rises and bluffs, steadily uphill the entire way. The lead rider had us at a pretty good pace and our group was beginning to stretch. Through it all Carson doggedly hung with the leader. At a trail junction where we stopped to wait for the rest of the group Billy, who had been the lead rider, offered the role to Carson. “Uh…no that’s ok,” Carson answered. “No, really – you can do it,” Billy encouraged him, “Go for it man.”

He looked back at me, I gave him the nod, and with that big Carson grin on his face he took the lead…and boy did he set a monstrous pace, thinning the group even more. At trail crossings we would stop and wait for the others. These little breaks were the only times I could see Carson’s face and it was redder than a stop sign, but I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t going to let up.

After nearly two hours of Carson’s lung bashing, thigh burning lead we came to the end of the uphill. We sat and waited for the rest. When everyone had arrived Billy took a break from his water bottle. “You know people spend a lot of time these days trying to decide if twenty-nine inch wheels are better than twenty-six’s.” “But…,” He stepped over and put his hand on Carson’s shoulder, “We all just got smoked by a pair of twenty-four’s.”

As my father always said, “It’s the Indian, not the arrow…except when it comes to golf clubs.”